The Death of a Witch
by BellaVDashwood
Summary: When Tara is shot at the end of "Seeing Red", she doesn't go to Heaven. She doesn't go to Hell, either. The Powers that Be send her to Middle Earth instead.
1. Chapter 1

Tara stood, framed in the window, when glass shattered behind her. A splash of red sprinkled onto Willow's shirt. "Your shirt," Tara said. Willow's eyes went wide.

Tara fell.

* * *

She landed on a narrow stone bridge over a rushing river. Trees surrounded the river on both sides. Tara whimpered. She looked around. Water, trees, trees... Where had Willow gone? To her left, on one side of the bridge, were two figures on horseback. They had an otherworldly beauty, with long dark hair. She didn't focus on them long. Tara whimpered again. "Willow?" she cried.

The world went foggy, and she collapsed.

One of the figures on the bank shouted out, the other vaulted from his horse. He ran forward, barely catching her before she tumbled headfirst into the water. "Elrohir, bring the horses," he called. The woman was unconscious, and heavy. "We have to take her to Ada."

Elrohir led the two horses across the narrow bridge. "Have you got her?" he asked his twin.

"Yes," Elladan said. "But once we reach the bank, we can put her on my horse. I'll ride with her. It'll be faster." He stood, Tara in his arms bridal-style. Gently he tipped her head so it was pillowed against his chest and carried her across the bridge. At the far bank, he handed her to Elrohir, mounted his horse and reached out for the girl. Between the two of them, they managed to get Tara sitting sidesaddle in front of Elladan, one of his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her in place. Again he tipped her head against his chest.

He glanced back at Elrohir, sturdily astride his own horse. "Let's go."

* * *

"You mentioned she said something before she fainted?" Elrond asked his sons again. Tara had been placed in a room in the family wing, where Elrond and his sons could most easily keep watch over her. All three of them were assembled in that room as the sun set. Elladan was on a chaise near the empty fireplace, Elrond stood at the window and Elrohir had pulled up a seat near the head of the bed where Tara lay. Every now and then he dabbed at her forehead with a damp cloth, hoping to calm her troubled sleep.

"Yes, she said 'willow'," Elladan said. The frown on his face made it obvious he didn't understand the significance of the word. Elrond drummed his fingers on the windowsill, wondering the same thing.

"Wait," Elrohir said. The other two turned towards him; his eyes were fixed on Tara. "She moved—I think she heard you."

Elrond left the window and stood at Tara's other side. He leaned over her. "Young one," he said gently, "young one, what is 'willow'? Wake up, child."

Tara twitched at her lover's name and murmured something.

"What did you say?" asked Elrond in the same even tone. "Wake up, please. What did you say?"

Tara's eyelashes fluttered. "Willow?" she whispered. Her arm moved across the bed but found only empty space. Her eyes opened and took in first the empty, strange bed. Then her gaze lifted to the three elves, notably the two leaning over her. She screamed.

Elladan and Elrohir both jumped at the sound. Elrond didn't flinch. "Have no fear, child. We will not harm you."

"W-w-where am I?" Tara stuttered. "Who a-are you? Where's Willow?" She scrambled backwards until she was against the headboard. She glanced around for a weapon but couldn't see one within reach. Everything felt... not _wrong_ exactly, but _different_. This wasn't Sunnydale, or if it was, it was a _very _different version of Sunnydale.

"You are in Rivendell, also called Imladris. It is my home. I am Elrond." He left off his title in case it intimidated the poor girl. Mentally he rebuked himself: he had not considered how frightened a mortal woman would be to wake up—in a bed, no less!—surrounded by strange males. "These are my sons Elrohir," he gestured, "and Elladan." He paused, searching her face. "As for 'willow', I do not know what you mean."

"W-willow! She's—she has to be here! She's not here?" Tara's eyes flitted around, resting on each face before stopping on Elrond.

He shook his head cautiously. "You were alone when my my sons found you," he said.

A knock sounded at the door and it opened. A breathtaking woman entered the room. Her hair was silver, but not like it had turned that way from old age. The only way Tara could think to describe it was silver-blonde, incredibly pale and glowing. She wore a long blue dress, intricately embroidered with leaves.

Her sapphire eyes took in the room, from the three elves to the strange woman curled fearfully on the bed. "Mithrandir has just arrived," she said. Her voice was like bells, gentle and commanding.

Elrond straightened. "Then I will go—"

"No need," a loud voice boomed. A tall bearded man dressed in gray swooped into the chamber. He held a gnarled staff in one hand, with the other he pulled the pointed hat from his head. He held both staff and hat out to Elladan who took them and set them aside. "Thank you, Celebrian," he said to the woman. He turned his own grey eyes on Tara. "Welcome, young lady. I do hope you haven't been awake long."

"Mithrandir?" Elrohir asked.

"Not now, please. I believe your guest is very confused, but I have some answers for her." He looked at the twins. "Might you excuse us? Elrond, Celebrian, you are welcome to stay, but I'm afraid so many people are distressing the poor lady."

Elladan and Elrohir looked to their father. Elrond nodded and they left. The old man took Elrohir's vacated chair and Celebrian went to stand beside her husband.

Tara wrapped her arms around her knees and looked at the man. "Who are you?" she asked.

He ran his hand through his beard. "I am Gandalf the Grey." Tara glanced over at the elven couple and back to him. He smiled gently. "Mithrandir is a word that means 'grey pilgrim'. It is a... nickname, you could say." Tara nodded mutely. "What is your name?" he asked after a moment.

"Tara. Tara Maclay." She twisted the blanket nervously between her fingers. "You say you have answers?"

"Some," Gandalf said. "Not all. But some."

"Okay." She took a deep breath, not meeting Gandalf's eyes. "What happened to me? How did I get here?"

Elrond and Celebrian both watched the old wizard and saw the sadness in his eyes. "My dear," Gandalf said, "I think you already know that answer."

Tara blinked back tears and shook her head. Celebrian perched herself on the edge of the bed and took one of Tara's hands to comfort her. She already had an inkling of what the stranger would say. "Come now," she crooned. "It will be all right. You must say it."

"I was with Willow, in our room. I just got her back—" Tara's breath caught. "We were talking, getting dressed. Then the window broke, and—and there was blood." A few tears spilled back efforts to restrain them. "My blood. I—I died."


	2. Chapter 2

"I died." Bleary-eyed, she turned to Gandalf. "Didn't I?" The hand that wasn't held by Celebrian moved over her heart, where part of Tara's mind told her there should be a bullet hole.

He nodded. "Yes."

"But how did I get here?"

Gandalf sat back and pulled out his pipe. These answers, at least, had been given to him. "You were brought." He paused to let that sink in. "The place where you lived is a different world, a different dimension. You understand?"

Tara nodded. "Like the hell dimension Angel went to, or the world without shrimp."

Elrond raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Gandalf just nodded. "You were killed in your home dimension, but instead of moving on to the afterlife you were brought here."

"But why?"

Gandalf puffed on his pipe, recalling the information the Valar had given to him. "To heal. I must say, the Valar picked a good place for that." He smiled at Elrond. "You must heal, emotionally. They have given you time for that." Tara opened her mouth to speak, but Gandalf cut her off. "You need to heal in your soul, not your body. And once you have, your 'Powers that Be' will give you a choice."

"Choice?"

Gandalf shrugged. "You'll know when they ask, not before."

"And Willow?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"She is not here."

"But... did she die? Her shirt... there was blood..."

"I don't have that answer for you," Gandalf admitted.

"What does your heart tell you?" Celebrian asked softly. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed stroking Tara's hand soothingly. "Look inside yourself. Part of you knows."

Tara hesitated, looking intently at each of her 'rescuers'. Finally she took a deep breath and turned her thoughts inward.

It was unsettling at first. The magic within her body was the same as always, but different, so different from the energy that pulsed through the world around her. She looked deeper, to the place inside that was filled with her love for Willow. She faltered, afraid. "I don't know," she said. Celebrian's hand tightened around her own. Tara took another shaky breath and took the plunge.

Immediately her mind was filled with Willow: the smell and feel of her, the taste of her. Her laugh, her hair, the way it felt when they did spells together, when they made love. Tara sorted through the images, emotions, textures, scents, looking for those last moments with her lover. She remembered blood splashing onto Willow's shirt, and then falling. Tara froze that moment in her mind and focused on Willow.

Eventually she opened her eyes. "She's alive." She let out a deep breath. "She's still alive."

Gandalf glanced at Elrond, who seemed relieved. "How about we give Tara time to rest, hmm? She must be exhausted." The two of them stood and prepared to leave. Celebrian hesitated but stood.

"Wait!" Tara said. "I still have questions!"

"We can talk more later," Elrond assured her. "Sleep for now. Someone will be nearby if you need anything." All three of them left, leaving Tara alone.

* * *

She tried to sleep. She really did. But every time she tried to clear her mind Willow was there. After what felt like ages Tara gave up on sleep. Instead she took a seat on the floor and began to meditate. Mentally she explored the energies of the world around her, attempting to acclimate to this new magic of this new place. It wasn't easy. Quickly the meditation drew her in, absorbed her mental focus and allowed her rest, though not sleep.

* * *

When Celebrian returned to Tara's room a few hours later, she found the young woman not in bed as she expected but sitting cross-legged on the floor. Tara's hands lay gently on her knees, her eyes shut. When Celebrian entered the room, Tara's head tilted slightly to one side before turning toward the door. The late afternoon sun slanted across her face and cast delicate shadows. Tara opened her eyes. "Oh," she said. "Hello..." She blushed. "I'm sorry, I forgot your name already."

"Celebrian," the elf said with a gentle smile. "Are you feeling rested?"

Tara shrugged but nodded. "Where's the b-big grey g-guy? I still h-have questions."

"I know," Celebrian said. "Mithrandir—Gandalf—is in my husband's study. If you feel up to it, I'll take you to them and you can ask all you like."

"Okay."

Tara followed the older woman from the bedroom where she'd woken, through hallways to a set of decorative double doors. Celebrian paused. "Ready?" she asked. Tara nodded. Celebrian looked her over and, apparently satisfied, opened the doors.

Elrond and Gandalf stood over a solid oak desk. Both looked towards the door when it opened. "Ah, you're up!" Gandalf exclaimed.

"I have m-more q-q-questions," Tara said.

"Naturally." Gandalf gestured to a grouping of chairs near a window. They all moved and sat, with Tara slumped forward into a guarded position. After a moment she jolted back to her feet.

"I can't sit," she said. "I—what's g-going to happen to me?"

"You'll stay here," Elrond said. He clasped his wife's hand, watching Tara as she paced restlessly. "With us. You will have everything you need to heal for your choice, especially time."

"Time. How much time?" Tara asked. "How long will it t-take to heal? Weeks, months?"

"Years," Gandalf corrected. "More likely decades. It is not physical healing, you must remember, but emotional, psychological. Your body is whole, but you suffered much in the place where you were, did you not?"

Tara paused, her fingers twisting anxiously. _Brain-sucking hell goddesses, sadistic vampires, homicidal professors, resurrected friends..._ "I'd say that's an understatement."

"You will have time here," Gandalf reiterated. "Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrian, their people, are immortal. Elves." He waited a moment for that to sink in. "The land is at peace. Things are calm and steady. Here there will be no sudden deaths, no great trauma. You will be safe and protected for as long as it takes."

"This is a good place for healing," Celebrian added. "The trees, the rivers. There is a kind of magic here. We have been blessed by the Valar."

Tara looked at each of the faces before her, hands shaking. She took a deep breath and rested them on the back of her empty chair. "As long as it takes."


	3. Chapter 3

"You're leaving?"

Gandalf had taken Tara out to the gardens to deliver the news. It was three months since her arrival in Middle-Earth, and though she was still skittish around most of Rivendell's residents she seemed to be finding her way all right. "There is work to be done," he said. "I am needed elsewhere."

"B-b-but I need you!" Tara protested.

"No, you don't. Not right now, anyway." He looked her over. Dresses had been found and altered to fit the young woman, her hair pinned back and soft leather boots on her feet. She looked like a woman of Rivendell. "You have Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrian, their sons... you have everyone here."

"But—" She took a deep breath and looked down. _Don't beg, _she thought to herself. _No matter how much you want to. _"I thought this world was at peace."

"It is, for the moment. But the Dark Power that fell in the East will try to rise again and we must be prepared."

"Oh," she said softly. "Will you ever come back?"

"I will," he assured her. "After a while, I will. We will see each other again, my dear. You needn't worry about that."

"Alright," Tara finally said. She glanced up a the wizard's kind face and was reminded in a way of Giles. "Where will you go?"

Gandalf pondered the question for a moment. "Come with me," he said. "We'll have a little geography lesson and I'll show you."

* * *

Slowly Tara acclimated to the new way of living, without school, bills to pay, indoor plumbing or supermarkets. Meals were eaten en mass, and dinner would be followed by songs and tales in the Hall of Fire. She spent long hours sitting in her window thinking about Sunnydale, about Willow, about the Scoobies. Sometimes Celebrian would join her, sitting nearby with needlework and keeping an eye on the young woman. Most of the time Tara was barely aware of her presence.

Time passed around her, but for months Tara was aware only of herself. It was selfish, maybe, but no one ever called her out on her behavior.

Slowly she became cognizant of the world outside herself. She recognized that Elrond spent most of the day shut into his office with books and ledgers. When he wasn't in his office he was often working with herbs and poultices, treating minor and major wounds that occurred in the valley. Soon Tara noticed the rotation of faces at mealtime—she still did not know most of the names—and out her window watched warriors coming and going on horses. Eventually she realized they were security patrols, keeping the valley safe.

Tara met other inhabitants of Rivendell. She learned names, recognized the faces that went along with them. She spent long hours in the library or in the gardens, reading histories or working with her magic. She realized that while she spent her days doing nothing, everybody else bustled with activity. In the end, she went to Elrond to speak to him about it.

"Everyone has a job here," she said.

Elrond merely replied, "Yes."

"Everyone except for me."

"Yes."

Tara stared at him for a moment. He was sitting calmly at his desk, hands folded over an open ledger. The afternoon sunlight streamed across the floor and sparkled with warmth. When she realized he wasn't going to speak further, she sat in one of the armchairs across from him. "Why am I the only one without a job?"

"Because you have not been ready for one." Elrond closed his ledger and set it aside. "You went through intense trauma, with your death and waking up here, in such a foreign place. I won't even go into the horrors you experienced in your world. For a person so young, of the race of Men, it is a wonder your mind did not shatter. You needed the time free from responsibilities to recover."

"Oh," Tara whispered. She paused. "Will I have a job at some point?"

"Are you ready for one?" Elrond asked. As she thought, he added, "Tara, do you know how long you've been here?"

She looked up. "Um. I-I'm not s-s-sure. A c-c-c-couple m-months?"

He shook his head. "It's been almost a year."

"What? No, no, that's not possible. I haven't changed that much, I haven't grown, my hair hasn't gotten that much longer..."

"Of course you haven't changed," he interrupted. "You're dead."

Tara froze. "Wait, what?"

Elrond sighed. "You died in your world, yes? That was why you were brought here."

"Yes..."

"And when you died, your body shut down. It stopped growing and changing. You will not get any older than you are now, I suspect, no matter how many years you live in this place."

"Why aren't you surprised? Not even a little?"

He smiled. "When you first arrived, I thought about it. As I said, you died. Since then I've been watching you closely and saw that my hypothesis seemed valid."

"Oh. I-I hadn't really thought ab-about that." She let out a little laugh. "Maybe I should have. I mean, I spent two years fighting vampires..."

"I know this is a lot to take in—"

"The suddenly being immortal part isn't actually that shocking," Tara said, a blank look on her face. "But, a year..." Her voice dropped. "Willow..."

Elrond hesitated. Tara hadn't said much about the people she had known, but she had said the least of all about Willow. He guessed the subject was too raw; whoever Willow was, she seemed very dear to Tara.

She clenched her eyes shut, willed away the tears that wanted to spill over, set her jaw. When she looked back up at Elrond, her face showed only resolve. "I'm ready for a job. I want to contribute."

Elrond nodded. "Then let's see what you can do."

* * *

As Tara approached her first anniversary of her arrival in Rivendell, she spent long hours working in the stables. She helped clean tack, brush and exercise the animals, mucked out stalls. The work, while exhausting, made Tara feel better. She still lost track of time, finding on occasion that months flew by unannounced and unnoticed, but she felt useful, productive.

Being involved with everyday life also meant she got to know others better than she had. While she didn't become close friends or confidantes with the elves, they managed to become cordial. No one asked probing questions, but light conversation flowed freely. Her body grew stronger from the labor, and the conversations taught her, bit by bit, about the world she now inhabited.

Much time passed. Gandalf visited occasionally, staying long enough to see Tara's progress before leaving again. Each time he offered the same reason for his departure: "There is work to be done." Still, though, Tara refrained from confiding in anyone the details of her past life. Until, that is, a young mortal boy was brought to the elves.


End file.
